Chapter 33
Serena
Henderson's eyes widened with something that might have been hope. Or hunger. Probably both.
"The thing is," I continued, circling the table slowly, "I'm not familiar with hotels in this area. I wouldn't know where to take her to ensure she's... properly cared for."
"I—" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tried again. "I might know a place. The Lexington Arms. It's just two blocks from here. Very discreet. Very... comfortable."
"How convenient." I stopped beside Elena's unconscious form, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder in a gesture that to anyone watching would look protective. "You wouldn't happen to have a room there already, would you?"
The transformation in his expression was remarkable—from panic to predatory interest in the span of seconds. "As a matter of fact, I do. Room 1803. Eighteenth floor. I keep it for... late business meetings. When I need privacy." His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I could take her there. Make sure she's settled. Safe."
"That's very kind of you." My voice remained light, almost cheerful. "I'd hate for her to catch cold, you know. Passed out on a table like this. A woman alone can be so vulnerable."
"Oh, I'll make sure she's warm." The words came out before he could stop them, thick with implication. He caught himself, tried to backtrack. "I mean—I'll make sure the room is warm. The heating. And extra blankets. Of course."
"Of course." I stepped back, giving him room to approach Elena's limp form. "Well, I should be going. Early morning tomorrow. Thank you so much for taking care of this, Mr. Henderson. I really appreciate it."
"My pleasure." He was already moving toward her, calling for the server who'd poured the drugged wine. "My absolute pleasure, Miss Vance."
I collected my purse, checked my reflection in the window—composed, professional, untouched by scandal—and walked toward the exit with measured steps. Behind me, I heard Henderson and the server discussing the best way to move Elena without attracting attention. The private elevator. The service entrance. The careful choreography of men who'd done this before.
The restaurant's main corridor was blessedly empty when I stepped into it, the thick carpet muffling my footsteps as I made my way toward the lobby. I'd almost reached the main entrance when I glanced back through the partially open door of our private dining room.
Henderson and the server had Elena upright between them, her arms draped over their shoulders, her head lolling against Henderson's chest. They were heading toward a different elevator—the service one, probably, the one staff used to move drunk patrons without disturbing the other guests. Henderson's hand was on Elena's waist, fingers splayed possessively, and even from this distance I could see the anticipation in his posture.
I pulled out my phone and pressed Chloe's number before I could second-guess myself.
She answered on the first ring. "Please tell me you're calling because you finally slept with Lance and want to give me all the dirty details."
Despite everything, I felt my lips twitch. "That's the plan, actually. But there's something more immediate."
"Oh?" I could hear the shift in her tone, from playful to predatory. Chloe in gossip mode was a force of nature. "Do tell."
"How many of your friends work for tabloids? The kind that pay well for exclusive stories?"
"Serena Vance." She drew out my name like a promise. "What have you done?"
I watched through the window as Henderson and the server maneuvered Elena into the service elevator, her body completely limp between them. "I have a story. Breaking news, really. Bankrupt socialite Elena Vance, desperate to save her family's failing art business, sells herself to a fifty-something financier in exchange for a contract. Room 1803, the Lexington Arms, eighteenth floor. The story practically writes itself."
The silence on the other end lasted exactly three seconds. Then Chloe's delighted laugh rang through the phone. "You evil genius. I have at least five photographers who would kill for this. When?"
"Now. They need to be there within the next hour, preferably sooner." I pushed through the restaurant's entrance into the cool evening air, tipping the valet as he brought my coat. "And Chloe? Make sure they get good shots. I want there to be no doubt about what's happening in that room."